


One Stop Closer to Good

by stupidinspaces



Category: Merlin (TV), The Good Place (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, stupid humor, the good place AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 05:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidinspaces/pseuds/stupidinspaces
Summary: Arthur was a successful entrepreneur, a philanthropist. In the afterlife, however, he finds out he's not all that.Written for a Kinks of Camelot meme. OP asked for an AU set in The Good Place universe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Merlin (BBC). I don't own The Good Place (NBC). I'm shit at titles. Don't sue me.

Arthur always worked like he was running out of time - one would have to when one runs five international charities, three multi-billion companies, a pro bono legal office, and was aiming to be the youngest prime minister in the history of the country. In the end, it didn't matter, because a truck driving 200 km/hour didn't care about deadlines.

Arthur only had time to look at the two tons of steel driving towards him at seemingly unnatural speed. He’d heard from talk shows his ex-girlfriends forced him to watch that “your life flashes before your eyes” when faced with a fatal threat. Arthur didn't have that experience. Instead, he only had one terrifying thought before darkness claimed him, “Oh fuck it, I’m going to miss my meeting.”

\---

Arthur opens his eyes, feeling like a fog had settled in his mind. At present, he’s seated on a couch in an unfamiliar lobby, no recollection of how he got there. There’s a message on the wall, “Welcome! Everything is fine.” 

He stares at the words, not really feeling anything. 

He only tears his eyes away from the neon green letters on the wall when he hears a cheerful voice beside him say, “Hi, I’m Janet!” to see a woman in purple frills, a wide smile on what otherwise would have been a vacant expression, “Welcome, Arthur Pendragon! Michael is ready to see you.”

“I should get her to replace Sophia,” he thinks, dragging words out from under the layer of dust that had settled on his brain. She leads him, posture perfect, to a door labeled “OFFICE” and on which she knocks twice before opening, “Hello, Michael. Arthur Pendragon is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Janet,” he hears from inside the office. 

“You’re welcome.” Janet turns to Arthur, grin still in place. From up close, Arthur can see an eerie void in her eyes, like she sees even beyond him. 

“Arthur Pendragon,” the man inside the office says, warmly. “I’m Michael. Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you,” Arthur says, stepping inside the office. Janet closes the door behind him. 

Arthur takes his time to get seated, trying to remember a meeting scheduled with a Michael, but comes up short. He eyes the other man under his eyelashes: the silver hair, the glasses, the bow tie. No recall of a previous meeting or even a brief comes to mind by studying his features. Then again, older white men in suits were not in short supply in Arthur’s circle. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going on right now.”

Arthur shrugs, mustering a smile. He’d learned long ago that when you didn't know something, it was best to let the other party take the lead until you could find safer ground.

Michael takes a deep breath. “There’s no easy way to break the news, so I’ll just get it out of the way… Arthur, you’re dead.”

Arthur gets flashes of a blue truck coming towards him at full speed, the image of his mutilated body… “Oh,” he says, mood souring. Morgana would probably celebrate. Without him in the way, she instead could become the youngest prime minister in the queendom. 

“Unfortunately,” Michael says, adopting a somber posture for a moment before grinning. “But the good news is, you’re here in the Good Place. You see, after you die, you end up either in the Good Place or the Bad Place. Well, there are a few exceptions, but they almost never happen.”

“...Like Heaven and Hell?”

“No. I can see why you’d think that, but it’s a little more… scientific than that. So for clarity and copyright’s sake, we like to call it the ‘Good Place’ and the ‘Bad Place.’ And you, Arthur, are among the 0.0001% of the people who are worthy enough to get into the Good Place. Congratulations.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, wondering if he’d traded up after all. Morgana probably wouldn't get into the Good Place. Scratch that, Morgana _definitely_ wouldn't get into the Good Place.

“You’re dead, there were things you weren't able to accomplish,” Michael says, gesturing with his hands, “but that’s all in the past - the past, as in, Earthly life. There is no passage of time here. Only eternity. None of those mortal things matter now. And just think, to get into the Good Place, you have to be at the top 0.0001% of the people who have been genuinely good.”

Arthur couldn't help but feel a rush of pride at that, but his training from a thousand press conferences and interviews automatically kicks in to make him say, “Oh, I’m sure anyone else could easily have taken this spot…”

“No, no, no,” Michael says, waving this aside. “You started charities that according to our prognostics, saved 2 billion people from unemployment, famine, and homelessness. You've dedicated tireless hours to offer underprivileged people legal counsel for free. Your companies are fair trade and environmentally sustainable… You have made great strides to combat climate change...” 

Arthur smiles, warmed, “Well, it’s just the right thing to do. And I’m very proud of what I do. Did.”

Michael smiles, and Arthur can’t help but think his smile has turned a little predatory. “Oh, I know you are.”

“Thanks...” Arthur says, reaching up to tug at his tie. His favorite tie, embroidered with the Pendragon crest in red. Flipping the end of it, he remembers now: he’d died wearing his favorite tie because he was on his way to a meeting with Bill Gates and Beyoncé to discuss investing billions of dollars on a project precisely to combat climate change.

“But,” Michael says, tilting his head, smile warm and friendly once more, “it’s really the small things that let us know who we are. If we _truly_ are worthy of being in the Good Place. And Arthur, also in that you've been exemplary.”

“Thank you,” Arthur says, automatically.

“There was that time that an old lady was standing in the crowded bus you were taking to work and you gave her your seat. The barista that was visibly stressed and you told him it was okay he was a little behind on your order, even though you were in a hurry. The mother who was shopping with two of her little kids, and you patiently helped carry her groceries- aww!” Michael pouts like this is the most precious thing he’s ever heard.

Arthur nods, though he has to make a Herculean effort to try to recall memories of these deeds. He’s getting the uncomfortable feeling that some of these things did not _exactly_ sound like things he would do...

“--Or that time the man next to you on the plane was having a panic attack from his fear of flying, and you comforted him and let him sob into your jacket.”

Okay, Arthur definitely did not do that. He would never have let a stranger slobber into his clothes in a confined space.

“Without those things, you never would have made the cut to the Good Place. But you did, Arthur, and here we are.” 

Arthur stares at the proud glint in Michael’s eye and clears his throat, “Uhm…” It’s been way in the _past_ that he last could remember being this flustered.

“Yes?” 

“Is it possible that… deeds are attributed to people that haven’t done them… that leads to them getting in to the Good Place?”

Michael looks upward, before shaking his head. “We have strict procedures to make sure that deeds are attributed to the correct person- the correct name. And there are barriers in place that make sure no one unworthy could get into the Good Place.”

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief upon hearing the last part. “Oh, that’s good, because--”

“Though I have to say, the Bad Place has way better barriers than us. They've invested most of their initial budget to secure a stronger barrier to ensure no truly good person could get inside the Bad Place. The demons there are very,” he scrunches up his nose, “allergic to good people.”

“That’s... good to know.”

Michael’s smile falters and he looks a little embarrassed. “Our barrier is… good, but not as great. Once in a while a person who should have gone to the Bad Place does end up here…” 

“Oh,” Arthur says, stomach rolling. 

Michael adds on hurriedly, “But that’s very rare. Very rare. It only happens with 1 out of 10 billion people. Roughly. So don’t worry about that,” his voice drops to a lower register. “It’s very unlikely that a bad person ends up in the Good Place, don’t you worry.”

Arthur forces a smile. “I see.” Michael makes a gesture to stand and Arthur scrambles to say, “Uh, just for curiosity’s sake- what happens to the… bad people who end up here in the Good Place? The, uh, very, very rare times it happens?”

“Oh, we just send them straight to the Bad Place,” Michael says cheerily. 

“And what happens to… bad people, in the Bad Place?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Torture- being skewered like hotdogs on a stick; forced to watch political debates in a room full of people, with muzzles so they cannot discuss their opinions; stabbing with a thousand needles… You know bad, bad stuff like that. I mean, it is the Bad Place.” Michael seems to think this is hilarious, and laughs loudly at this. Arthur forces out a laugh, gut somewhere near his shoes. 

After calming from his fit of laughter, Michael stands and straightens his jacket. “So, Arthur Pendragon. Are you ready to see the Good Place?”

Arthur nods, though it’s become clear that when Michael calls his name, he’s not the Arthur that Michael is calling to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the tags.

In the introductory video shown to the 250 citizens of their neighborhood, Michael had claimed it was his first time designing a Good Place neighborhood and not to expect everything to be perfect; but upon entering his new home, Merlin doesn't think Michael could have done a better job. The house is the perfect size with only a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small intimate bedroom. In the living room, only a small TV and a shelf full of books and shows that Merlin loves. 

The only thing he wouldn't have thought of is the picture of Queen Elizabeth over the bed. Michael, however, had assured him that his soulmate is obsessed with the monarchy. Merlin stares at the portrait of the queen, which stares back at him. _I could live with that,_ he thinks, hesitantly.

He walks around the place, obsessively picking at imaginary lints. According to Michael, he shouldn't have to worry about what his soulmate will say about the place, because- and Merlin could sigh at the memory, _they were perfect for each other in every way._

Merlin sits on the bed, ignoring the feeling of the queen’s eyes boring into his back, and smooths the sheets with one hand. _This is where we’ll be sleeping,_ Merlin thinks, heart skipping a beat. _Me and… my soulmate._

He sits there for a while, smoothing the already straight sheets with his hand, wonders if being dead should feel like he’s dreaming while awake. When the doorbell rings, he jumps from the bed, practically ripping open the front door. 

“Ah, hello again, Merlin,” Michael says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “this is…” he turns to gesture to the figure Merlin’s eyes had already attached to. 

Tall, well-built, blond. _He’s beautiful._

The man smiles politely, and even his crooked teeth are perfect. “Arthur.” 

“Merlin,” he says and hears the breathlessness in his voice. He clears his throat. 

“Merlin. Arthur,” Michael says, speaking reverently, “I've already explained a little of what you can expect in the video introduction earlier... And I think you both already know why I’m here with you guys. But I’m pleased to officially say, that you two are soulmates. Bound to each other by cosmic bonds that not even the universe quite understands. Complementary in every way.”

Merlin grins and he can already tell that he’s smiling the smile his best friend Will always said made him look simple.

Arthur gives a small smile in return, making his face look fresh and boyish. “Well. Nice to meet you, soulmate!” 

Merlin can feel the stretch on his cheeks from the wideness of his grin, “Sorry, I just have to--” he rushes forward to give his soulmate a hug, feeling complete when he feels hands reach around him. 

Michael smiles, clapping his hands together. “Timeless love!” Michael takes off his glasses to inspect them in the light, seemingly moved. “I really wish I could stay here longer, but I better be going. Have to check that every detail of the neighborhood is,” he makes a circle with all of his fingers, “perfect.” He disappears with the snap of his fingers.

“So,” Merlin says, not sure if the giddiness ever will abate. “Welcome to our new home.”

Arthur looks around. “Cute,” he says. 

“Your Welsh is perfect,” Merlin marvels.

Arthur squints, “I’m actually speaking English. And so are you, actually.”

“Oh, this place must be translating everything we say to whichever our native language is then.”

“I suppose so.”

Arthur looks around and Merlin wonders what he sees. Most of the things in the house are things Merlin loves... but then he remembers, “Oh, hey, let me show you something.” He leads Arthur to the bedroom. “It’s Queen Elizabeth. Apparently, you, erm, really like her?”

Arthur stares at the portrait for some time. Merlin laces his hands behind his back to stop from wringing them when he notices that he’s just led Arthur to their bedroom, which only has one double bed. 

“Merlin… I’m your soulmate, right?”

Merlin feels heat rush to his face, “Well, if we are to believe the cosmic laws of the universe that Michael says are absolute and infallible, then yes.” 

“You would never do anything to hurt me.” Arthur is still staring at the portrait of Her Majesty.

Merlin heart skips a beat, “I would never do anything to hurt you, Arthur.”

“Excellent!” Arthur finally turns to face him. He takes a deep breath. “There is something I must tell you…”

“All right…” Merlin says, cautiously. Then groans as a morbid thought enters into his head. “You’re not about to tell me you were married on Earth and are still loyal to them, are you? Or,” he glances at the portrait, “about to tell me you have an intense fetish for the queen? Though I think, for the second one, I can--”

Arthur’s brow furrows before he exclaims forcefully. “What- No! No, that’s not what I--” He takes a deep breath. “What I was about to say is that… I’m pretty certain I’m not supposed to be here.”

“What?”

“Actually, I should say I’m absolutely _certain_ I’m not supposed to be here.”

“But…” He looks at Arthur’s earnest face and feels his stance soften. “It’s okay. I can hardly believe it myself. I mean, it’s-- I asked Michael and he says _Ghandi_ didn't make it to the Good Place. But we’re here. It’s absurd, isn't it?”

Arthur shakes his head, rather urgently now. “No, that’s not it. Michael showed me ‘memories’ of the person who was supposed to be here… Only half of them were mine. Whoever the rest of those memories belong to is a sadist. There was a video where I was holding back this girl’s hair while she vomited all over my shoes. And another where I was hugging a homeless.” There’s an incredulous smile on Arthur’s face now. 

“Oh,” Merlin says, stomach starting to feel more acidic.

“Not to mention, _this,_ ” Arthur points to the painting of the queen, “I was famously known to be a republican on Earth.” He smirks. “Despite being colloquially known as ‘Prince of the People’. I didn't come up with that, by the way. The magazines did, the news just ran away with it.” 

“Maybe your memories have been altered?” Merlin suggests, slowly, feeling rather wrong-footed. “Michael says I don’t remember how I died because it was too- err…” Merlin hesitates to say ‘embarrassing’ though it was the adjective Michael had used. Merlin doesn't want to admit that in front of his soulmate, whatever Arthur’s doubts about their status.

“No, I’m pretty sure I would never touch someone who hadn't taken a shower that day, let alone a year,” Arthur says with a condescending tone that gets Merlin’s stomach churning. 

“ _Oh._ Well. Fork me.” Merlin pauses. “Fork. Why can’t I say ‘fork’?”

Arthur gives him a sarcastic smile, “Just another one of this place’s many charms... Hey, do you mind if we take a walk outside? This cabin is making me feel claustrophobic.”

\---

Perhaps they really are not soulmates, because they only make it to outside of the house, or “cabin” as Arthur referred to it, before they start squabbling. It reminds Merlin of when he first met Will, how they fought like cats and dogs until they both agreed to mutually hate someone else. When they were five. In kindergarten. 

“Why can’t you just tell Michael?” Merlin suggests finally.

“Because, Merlin,” Arthur says, slowly, “I’m not particularly eager to get tortured for the rest of eternity.”

Merlin shrugs, not feeling particularly charitable toward the man who had just taken away his chance of having a soulmate. “Maybe it’s a test? If you confess, you pass and they let you stay.”

Arthur squints at him. “And what of your test?” 

Merlin snorts. “You,” he thinks, but merely shrugs instead.

Arthur huffs and says definitively, “I am not telling Michael, and you are doing nothing of the sort either.”

“Not telling me what?”

Both Merlin and Arthur jump. Michael is walking towards them, with a pretty black girl walking hand in hand with a handsome man.

“Oh, hi, Michael,” Merlin says, trying to smile naturally. From the way Arthur is shooting him death glares, he hasn't completely succeeded. He’d never been complimented for his lying or acting skills.

If Michael notices anything is amiss, he doesn't remark on it, saying only, “Merlin, Arthur, meet Gwen and Lancelot. They’re your next-door neighbors.” Michael gestures to a Victorian house - mansion, really - right next to their “cabin.”

Arthur smiles politely. “Arthur Pendragon, how do you do?”

“Hello, Arthur. Merlin,” the pretty girl says, “I’m Gwen. Well, my name is really Guinevere, but all my friends call me Gwen. Guinevere makes me think of my grandmother…” She smiles, her skin soft-looking in the morning light. 

“You guys live here?” From the rather sour look on Arthur’s face, Merlin could take a wild guess in which house he would rather live.

Gwen blushes and ducks her head. “It’s rather excessive, really. It’s just me and Lancelot. I like your house though, it looks so cozy.” She smiles at them pleasantly for a moment before looking stricken. “Not that I think it’s small. I’m sure it’s just the right size. It’s just, you know, cozy.”

Merlin takes pity on her. “It is, and it’s perfect. Yours is monstrous, though, wow. At least you won’t run out of rooms if you ever have a lovers’ quarrel.” Gwen’s answering laugh sounds more out of relief rather than humor. 

Merlin tilts his head towards Lancelot. “So you’re soulmates? Lucky man.”

There’s a beat where Lancelot merely smiles at Merlin.

Right when Merlin starts wondering if the automatic translation has failed somehow, Gwen says, “Oh! Sorry. I’m sure Lancelot would love to answer you, but he can’t. He’s taken a,” she falters slightly, “a vow of silence. Part of some Medieval knights reenactment where they take this lifetime vow… that _charmingly_ extends to the afterlife as well...”

“Interesting,” Arthur says dryly and Merlin has to quickly count to ten in his head. 

“I’m really happy,” Gwen says, glancing at Arthur briefly, “I've the most handsome soulmate here.” She looks at them happily for a moment before looking horrified, “I mean, not that you both aren't handsome, of course, it’s just that he’s-- you know, my soulmate. You’re both very handsome, of course. Exceedingly handsome, in fact. He’s just- my soulmate.”

Arthur smiles thinly. “Quite. That’s great for you guys.”

Merlin tries to project kindness with his smile when Gwen’s face drops in embarrassment, and he’s already planning how to get back at Arthur later. “Don’t worry, we understood what you meant.”

Gwen nods. There’s a brief, awkward silence before she continues, “Anyway, I actually used to work with Medieval weaponry as an amateur smith myself. Learned from the best. My father was the international champion in smithing. Perhaps that’s why Lancelot and I are soulmates.”

Gwen and Lancelot smile at each other. Merlin looks at them, feeling wistful--

“Merlin and I are very sexually compatible. That’s why we’re soulmates.”

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. It could have been brushed off as a joke, but Arthur says it with a hard stance: arms crossed and feet apart, tone matter of factly. Merlin wonders if it’s possible to die a second time.

“Oh!” Gwen, and even Lancelot, turn bright red. “I see. Well.” Merlin can’t blame her for being unable to come up with anything to say, he can’t either.

“Uh, Gwen here is making the food for the welcome party tonight. You both will be attending, won’t you?” Michael who had been quietly observing until then says, rather hastily. “It’s tonight. At her house.”

“Space enough for everybody!” Gwen chimes in, short of breath.

“Sure!” Merlin says, face still burning. “We’ll be there.”

“Great! Looking forward to seeing you tonight, then,” Gwen laughs nervously. 

“Yes, see you tonight. Guinevere. Lancelot,” Arthur says formally, inclining his head.

Merlin and Gwen wave goodbye to each other hastily. 

“So, Gwen, let’s discuss the logistics of the party tonight…” Michael says, ushering Gwen and Lancelot away. 

Merlin drags Arthur by the wrist. “Uh, what the fork was that?”

Arthur huffs. “You ever notice how Michael always says your name first?”

“What? No. And speaking of names, she asked to be called ‘Gwen,’ not ‘Guinevere.’” He stops somewhere he feels is secluded enough, crossing his arms. “And don’t change the subject. I asked, what the hell was that?”

Arthur mirrors Merlin’s stance. “Uh, you’re welcome? I was defending our honor, Merlin. She was implying how much better suited they are. Besides, that girl was grating,” he mimics a stutter and a high-pitched voice, “Your house is s-s-small and shabby!” 

Merlin shakes his head, “That is not at all what she said.”

Arthur continues, “My man is hotter than you guys. You guys are bad soulmates.”

Merlin stares at him. “What? Okay, are you insane? She didn't say any of that. Lancelot’s her forking soulmate, she’s bound to think he’s hotter than anyone here. And, we _are_ bad soulmates,” he tries to sound unaffected, “because we’re not actually soulmates, are we?”

Arthur’s eyes soften and no, that is not what Merlin wants from him. Not his pity.

“I’m-- Merlin.”

“Forget it. Come on. I’m hungry.”

Merlin marches up the hill to the colorful marketplace Michael had painstakingly designed, already cursing frozen yogurt and mushroom soup - the only food available in the marketplace, and neither of which could properly satisfy his appetite. He doesn't bother waiting for Arthur, who for once doesn't have anything to say.


End file.
